


Reincarnation

by Mahanawhonahan



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Fucking gay losers, M/M, Reincarnation, There are too many ways to spell their names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:58:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahanawhonahan/pseuds/Mahanawhonahan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Marco are reincarnated and constantly looking for each other through their various lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reincarnation

**Author's Note:**

> I might turn this into a full length novel at some point, if you guys want it, but for now it's just a cutesy little oneshot. Let me know if you want me to expand any one life, or turn this into something big.

The first one he remembered was during the French revolution. He was too much of a coward to actually fight, but he did what he could to help. Over the course of a few days, every last piece of furniture had been dumped out of his house to help build up the barricade and every piece of that furniture was passed off to the cute volunteer with the dark hair and freckles. It was wartime so they didn’t get the chance to talk much, but Jean was convinced from day one that they were going to get married. Sometimes you just know. Not like that really mattered though, they were both dead by the end of the week; shot in the chest during the battles.   
The next time was better. The year was 1994 and they grew up next door to each other. They were both in smallish houses with low hanging roofs and if they crawled through their bedroom windows then they could both sit on their roofs and be close enough to speak. They would do that almost every night, laying side by side, watching the stars, and talking about everything they could think of.   
It took Jean until he was fifteen to start having the dreams. At first he thought he was just pathetically and madly in love and maybe the French revolution setting just had to do with the fact that he was reading Les Mis. But, after a night of underage drinking, Jean explained the dreams and found out that he wasn’t the only one having them. As it turned out, that lovely neighbor of his had been having the exact same ones. The two of them bonded over the similar dreams, but Jean was still convinced that he and Marco would have ended up together with or without them. It took no time for them to start dating and while they had problems like any other couple, they never split up. It didn’t last for long though. Marco only lived to be twenty before he was killed in a car accident, and Jean was dead a week later from a school shooting.   
Jean was pretty sure that, the more violent their deaths, the worse their next lives were going to be, and that was proving to be true. The next life they were pirates in the 1700’s, both working on the same ship. They remembered each other almost instantly, and died just as fast. Marco had made his affections for Jean quite clear, and the second that the other crew members found out, the torture started. Marco was whipped every time he was caught looking in Jean’s direction. Jean was forced to wear glass shards in his shoes and if a single shard was found out of them, Marco was beaten. Their hammocks were slashed to ribbons; they slept on the floor, and often woke up to other members of the crew abusing them further. Once their captain found out though, they were beaten, tied up, and thrown overboard. Jean could remember two minutes of them scrambling to get back up to the surface, and then a minute of panicking as he saw Marco’s body go limp and sink down further before his lost his own consciousness and then his life. His lover had seemed to get over that life, but Jean was still deathly afraid of the water and hadn’t gone swimming since.   
Jean was still having trouble remembering the fourth and fifth lives. That happened sometimes, Macro had said. That when their lives were more dramatic it took longer for the memories to all come flooding back. Jean asked about them a lot during their sixth life, but Marco was hesitant to answer any questions. He was starting to piece together everything though from what little he remembered and from what few details he had managed to squeeze out of his husband. In the fourth one they were step-brothers and there was something about a fire that left Marco badly scarred and Jean half blind. Even without all of the information, Jean could guess what had caused the flames and why his love was so reluctant to talk about it. He remembered something about being an assassin in the fifth, and remembered a lot of knives, but that was it and Jean was pretty content without remembering anything else.   
He remembered the sixth one though, early 2000’s in France again. He and Marco lived well into their forties and spent almost every day together. They married young and actually had a fair amount of money to their name. Marco had started writing novels, each of them about their past lives, and Jean became well known as a painter, whose work just happened to focus around a certain dark haired male. Given their long lives this time, they were able to explore more and try to figure out the reason behind their constant rebirth. Over time they managed to figure out that there was no trace of their past lives, which meant that each one existed in its own universe. Marco had joked around that they were going to end up as gay mermaids one of these days, though the idea just gave Jean nightmares for the next month. They were also starting to realize that each time, Marco was the one to die first, and Jean could only live for two weeks after his death. It was true again that time. Marco was stabbed to death when someone broke into their house and Jean was shot to death a week and a half later when he got caught in the middle of a gang war.  
This time, life number seven, Jean was twenty five before he finally found Marco. It was 2012 when he moved from Long Island, New York into Buttfuck Nowhere, Vermont. It was quite the change, going from the busy waterside to… whatever the hell was in Vermont, which happened to be nothing besides winter and farms. It wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be, but it was where Marco was and Jean knew he had to find him again. He had tried to message him through Facebook, but the messages were never seen and he had just assumed that it was because of the shitty internet connection; that happened when you lived in Buttfuck Nowhere. Jean had considered just showing up on Marco’s doorstep, but there was always the chance that Marco wouldn’t remember him this time around and he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to be showing up at his house.   
However, a week later, Jean and Marco were both in the Lighthouse Christian Church, wearing matching black tuxes. Jean couldn’t keep his eyes off of Marco’s and a minute into the service he was already crying. He was sitting in the back of the room, tears silently running down his face as the preacher spoke up. “We are gathered here today…” The voice echoed through the room and Jean felt another sob rack through his body. “To honor the memory of Marco Bodt…” Jean started to ignore the scripted words of the preacher as he just stared up at the casket that was holding the lifeless body of his lover. He didn’t even bother looking in to what killed him this time, he didn’t want to know. All Jean did know at this point was that his own demise was soon to follow. They couldn’t live without each other, or, rather, Jean couldn’t live without him, and he knew that within two weeks, he would be dead as well. He only half-listened to the stories during the service, and by the end he had made up his mind. An hour later, when the service was done, Jean followed the procession outside, his fingers already grazing over the two pain killers that where in his pocket, knowing that more were waiting for him back at home. He would make it easy on himself this time around; no brutal murders or crazy and painful accidents. He took a final look at the casket before he turned away from the procession and to his waiting car, whispering as he went, “See you next time, Marco.”


End file.
